


I Missed You

by rxdiansa (YukitenTheDark)



Category: DmC: Devil May Cry
Genre: Blood, Demons, F/M, Hell, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Lots of Crying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-18
Updated: 2016-10-18
Packaged: 2018-08-23 03:18:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8311996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YukitenTheDark/pseuds/rxdiansa
Summary: Bianca returned from her trip to Hell some time ago and Vergil missed her terribly, but when he expresses that, she lets everything she'd been feeling out and breaks down. In an effort to comfort her, he catches her off guard.





	

“What?”

The quiet, definite words fluttering into her ears were none she’d heard before and had so easily torn her away from the blossoms she’d been trimming and wrapping together in the spirit of the fall season, stopping her dead where she stood, brows furrowing, heart hammering against her ribcage. Her hands abandoned green stems and wire in favor of the yellow marble countertop, blue eyes widening as they met even bluer, misty with hidden distress, sincerity, care. It was the first time he’d said such a thing and she found herself at a loss, staring at him like a helpless child as she leaned against countertop for support.

How could he say that? How could he surprise her in such a way, render her speechless, and look at her like that? She swallowed a knot that had begun to form in her throat, ignoring the sting in her eyes, and let out a soft whimper. How could he say that, when she was in her safest of places? He knew right how she would react to him. He knew her inside and out; how could he not expect this? Every word out of his mouth carried weight, especially when it came to her, as he wasn’t very often so forward with his feelings - if at all - and so, she was left a tearful mess in his presence, biting her lip with a force she never thought she was capable of.

Not long ago, she’d taken her trip through Hell, pushing herself to a state of near-death, to find her own strength, to stop cowering behind her mate, to prove she was powerful, to prove her humanity has long-since been left behind. The journey itself seemed to have taken an indescribable amount of time and all the while, she thought she might break. The air had been hot and every battle, every trial, left her with more and more scars, feeling weaker and weaker as if it had been pointless. Everything had been a reminder of her past, from dilapidated statues of her mother to living memories of the abuse she endured as a child, hands on her throat, knives in her skin. It was…hard, having to undergo every ounce of what had made her the way she was, having to feel the burn of her mother’s words, having to make more and more excuses for a woman that hated her for a mistake her father made - but not only because it had all left lasting mental and emotional scars on the most delicate parts of her. It couldn’t have been so simple. She had to feel it at its rawest physical form; words like knife wounds, eyes like fire, hands like irons, bruises like broken bones. Everything had been amplified to the worst possible extent. It wouldn’t be Hell if it hadn’t.

There were things she’d learned about herself she wished she hadn’t, to top it off. Doing everything in her power to prove she could, in fact, be just as strong as her mate had proven almost regrettable a task for she’d discovered her body could twist and turn and break and bleed in all the worst ways. When marred skin turned a deathly pale grey-green and her feet could no longer touch the ground, an immense power had filled her to the brim and she easily tore her mother apart, lost in white hot anger and a thirst for vengeance she’d never known. All her life…all she’d wanted was to escape that horrid creature’s claws, but hidden emotions were at play and Allison’s blood was on her hands. At first, she was more than fine with what had transpired, seated in violence and pools of blood, but once it hit her and it all sunk in, she was on her hands and knees screaming.

And her mate had missed her, thought of her when she’d gone away to fight her demons alone. Needed her when she was cutting down monsters, Hollows of herself, and him, discovering the very power she had once been so terrified of, and murdering countless other demons. There was so much blood on her hands – and he’d missed her anyway.

She wasn’t sure how to handle it, consumed by a cocktail of confusing emotions. Frustration, relief, anger, guilt, gratitude, shame, love, disbelief, yearning, denial, all swirling in her gut, her chest tightening, tears now spilling from dull blue eyes, soft whimpers sounding at the back of her throat as she collapsed to the floor. In her desperation to prove herself to her people, her King, she became a monster and would forever have to live with all the wrong that’d taken place in Hell. She would have to live with taking Allison’s life herself, with the monstrous form she took when her very own Trigger emerged, with the countless demons’ lives she’d stolen in the name of dominance. 

She would have to live with the fact she collapsed at the gates of Hell a woman no longer human, no longer soft, no longer innocent and kind, but ruthless and cruel and different. No longer was she weak, but…no longer could she be.

It was wrong. It was so incredibly wrong and she wanted to scream, to run away into the garden– But her blooms deserved a gentle touch, not calloused, bandaged fingers tearing their petals. She wanted to scream, her heart breaking as it rocketed into her ribcage. She wanted to hide from her mate’s sorrowful gaze. She wanted to hide from him. He didn’t deserve such a pathetic, destructive creature –

“Bianca,” he would say, ungloved hands slipping around her fingers to get to the tears, to get to her face. He knew how easily she’d fall apart! He had to, he had to, but when his thumbs wiped away the saline, urged her eyes open, the look in those pretty, sad hues told her the opposite. He’d worried for her safety, longed for her presence during the nights he couldn’t bear to sleep, made breakfast for two too many times in the month she’d been gone, gazed sorrowfully at the wilted flower arrangements strewn about Paradise– all the while not knowing when she would return, if she would at all. And when she did, he wasn’t happy at all.

Her body had been left in injury, a bloodied mess in the foyer of Paradise. And when he’d found her lying there, alone, unconscious, bruised and beaten, he plucked her from the tile and carried her away. Perhaps in his mind, it had been the same as when they’d met– 

She was terrified, bleeding, injured, dirty, and the difference was she’d been unconscious, but he knew what to do. He knew to brush straw yellow strands from a marred and sweaty brow, silver knitting in concern and…helplessness. He’d taken great care to wash her tiny frame, clean out the wounds, wrap them in gauz, gently grasp her unconscious face in his hands, enraptured by how horrible she’d looked. He’d missed her, and this was how he’d receive her.

“Bianca,” he repeated, a cool forehead pressing against a clammy one, soft hands positioning themselves to the back of her head, her knee. Anchoring touches. They’d meant to keep her here, to keep her mind from wandering into the despair he knew it had been diving into in frequency. “I missed you.”

She whimpered and sobbed, tried to pull away from him, her own hands pushing against his chest, but she soon ceased her protesting, huffing and weeping in her mate’s grasp. Why was he being so gentle? Why? Why? She didn’t understand– She didn’t deserve it. Not now. She left him. She left him only to get herself hurt, to permanently scar her mind, to hurt others, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care. He didn’t and the reason lied within him - and he was trying to show her.

Tentatively, he slid his arms under her knees and under her own, lifting her off the tile, only to set her on the counter she’d only just recently been clinging to. She couldn’t help the cries that left her, couldn’t stop the tears. She’d been keeping all of it in and perhaps…perhaps he’d known that. Those familiar hands found her hip this time, her cheek, and in the hustle, she’d been confused, left to look through cloudy eyes into blue.

He didn’t care what she’d become. How could he? She would always be his mate, his companion, his friend–

Tentatively did his lips meet her own, those hands pulling her against him as tightly as he could manage. The whimpers in her throat died then, confusion filling her to the brim, but the constant hammering of her heart had begun to calm, smaller hands clutching at the fabric of his shirt. And he kissed her so softly, so needily, so lovingly, so urgently, showering her with a comforting kind of affection, claiming what remained of her delicate skin, lips ghosting over still-sore bruises on her neck, cuts and scrapes. 

“I missed you,” he whispered, his voice almost…almost weak. 

Bianca didn’t want to hear it anymore, tears slipping down her face all the more, her own hands nervously finding a place on him; silver strands and the hem of his shirt caught between her fingers, trembling lips pressing to his jaw. Uneasy, shaky breaths left the two, but it didn’t matter anymore. It didn’t matter. It didn’t. She’d left but she was in Paradise again. She was home, where she belonged, where she was safe. She was in his arms, where nothing could harm her, nothing could steal her away, and the embrace of her mate, as her mind decluttered, found itself in its home, was all she wanted.

His hands got more aggressive. She didn’t care. Teeth grazed the vein in her neck as he groped at her hips, his cool breath on her skin. He needed this. Fingers tugged at soft hair, dug into his back, clutched his shirt. She needed him. He pushed her knees apart with a single digit and pulled her closer by her hips, kissing her, biting her collar now, dragging his teeth along the softest, most sensitive spots on her chest, eliciting quiet groans from the blonde. She was weak to him and while she’d been so tearful, so afraid, so insecure, so hurt, his affection was all she needed.

She missed him, too.


End file.
